


The Sea Grows Civil

by Aziraiphale



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley First Kiss (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Couch Cuddles, Dancing, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), References to Hamlet, Waltzing, World War I, World War II, dancing aziraphale, mostly fluff tho, noahs ark, they just really love each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 11:22:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21243284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aziraiphale/pseuds/Aziraiphale
Summary: An angel learns to love, and a demon learns to dance.Most importantly, they learn to accept themselves.





	The Sea Grows Civil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sometimeseffable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimeseffable/gifts).

> This was supposed to be a super short fic about Aziraphale and Crowley dancing in the modern day  
...and then this happened.  
I hope you enjoy it!

Aziraphale missed dancing. He had, in some way, always loved dancing. Aziraphale had wondered since the Beginning why the angels were so entirely against dancing. They enjoyed celestial harmonies, and while those weren’t the most energetic tunes, it had still been difficult to resist the strange urge that would wash over him to tap his toes along with the music.

He had been caught doing so once, and the scolding he received was more than enough to stop him from ever engaging in toe-tapping again, at least not within Heaven’s walls.

Aziraphale found himself surprised at the excitement in head office when they first heard  _ The Sound of Music _ . The dancing in it was minimal, and not particularly  _ interesting, _ but Aziraphale was surprised to see angels so fervently against dancing taking such an interest in it. As much as he loathed to watch it over and over, he still found himself mildly surprised that Gabriel and Michael managed to resist the urge to give a good wiggle along with the music.

When the humans had invented dancing, Aziraphale had been  _ delighted.  _ Aziraphale had given them music,  _ nothing more.  _ The humans had immediately taken it upon  _ themselves _ to jump from where they were seated and move their bodies about in such joyous ways. Aziraphale had only ever  _ dreamt  _ of moving in such wondrous ways himself. It took all of his Heavenly willpower not to stand up and join the humans in that moment.

At the time he had thought it was selfish of him to allow them to continue. He had been so overtaken with joy, knowing finally that he wasn’t alone in his urge to move to the music, that he couldn’t bare the thought of scolding these humans the way the angels had scolded him.

After that, no matter the efforts put in by Aziraphale or any other angels, wherever music among the humans went, dancing followed. Aziraphale, on the other hand, did not follow. In fact, for centuries Aziraphale did all he could to avoid music and the dancing that accompanied it.

The first time he allowed himself to listen to music again had been on the Ark. He had never questioned an order from On High before then.  _ Technically _ he still hadn’t. He had simply ushered the young children of Mesopotamia in the direction of a very large boat. How was he to know that the demon, then known as Crawley, would be waiting at the entrance to smuggle them on board?

Once he himself was aboard the ship, the rain pouring down became heavier, more violent. Terrified locals had begun to pound on the walls of the ship, begging to be let in. As it had been commanded by Michael, neither Noah, his family, or Aziraphale answered the cries for forgiveness.

Instead, Aziraphale dejectedly made his way to the lower deck, away from Noah and his family and into the farthest corner in the back of the ship where extra supplies were being kept. 

There sat Crawley, surrounded by shaking children, holding a beautiful stringed instrument on his lap. Aziraphale knew he shouldn’t, but he found a strange comfort in the cool, calm eyes of the wretched demon he  _ knew  _ he was meant to hate.

Experienced fingers plucked at the strings, and a beautiful, heartbreaking tune slowly drowned out the desperate sounds of villagers outside the ship. Eventually, the mesmerizing tune even managed to drown out the pounding, unrelenting thoughts in the angel’s head; the fear and uncertainty that had been eating at him since he’d received his orders not to interfere. 

He didn’t dance, for he knew he couldn’t, but for the first time since he had introduced it to the humans, Aziraphale allowed himself to listen to, and be lost in music. 

After the Ark, Aziraphale allowed himself to listen to music again. He still firmly avoided places where the music often led to large crowds of moving bodies, but allowed himself to listen to the quiet tune of a harp or lyre. It wasn’t his fault that the humans invented dancing. It certainly wasn’t his fault that demons had taken such a liking to it. What kind of an angel would he be if he allowed Hell to take away his love of music? The invention of dance didn’t make  _ music  _ any less Heavenly, after all.

Many millennia later Aziraphale was on his way back from Edinburgh where he had performed both a miracle and a temptation. It was common practice after they performed each other’s deeds for the angel and the demon to meet up and discuss them. They couldn’t risk bringing any attention to the Arrangement, so they needed to get their stories straight. He was making his way to Crowley’s home when he passed by the Globe Theatre and saw the crowds pouring into the latest performance of  _ Hamlet _ .

The angel’s glee was radiating off of him when he finally reached the wooden door of the demon’s home, but before he knocked, he heard the music. A beautiful, upbeat tune was being played on a lute on the other side of the door. It was a tune that Aziraphale would usually run from for fear that the urge to dance would overtake him. It was the sort of sound that often led to the bobbing heads and tapping feet that Aziraphale had been scolded for partaking in. This particular tune reminded him very much of the hypnotizing tunes in  _ A Midsummer Night’s Dream _ . Aziraphale wasn’t surprised, that had been one of Crowley’s favourites.

_ “Thou rememberest _

_ Since once I sat upon a promontory _

_ And heard a mermaid on a dolphin’s back _

_ Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath _

_ That the rude sea grew civil at her song.” _

How fitting these words were to an angel who had been forbidden to dance. One who had grown fearful of music and the joy it brought, only to find safety in a demon’s eyes. He, the rough and stormy sea, had found calmness in the beautiful, harmonious breath of a demon’s song.

Aziraphale had feared dancing for too long, just as he had feared the Arrangement, and his attachment to Crowley. But Heaven and Hell had yet to come after them for performing the other’s duties, so how could Heaven possibly know if he allowed himself to enjoy the way the music flowed through his body?

When Aziraphale finally knocked on Crowley’s door that night it was to the beat of the music, and for once he did nothing to hide the beaming smile on his lips or the slight tapping of his toes. 

It wasn’t until the late 1880’s that Aziraphale had loosened up enough to find a style of dance that he particularly  _ connected  _ with.

He had spent many years simply content with tapping his toes along to any lovely song he heard, relishing in the fact that he no longer felt a need to control his urges. When the urges became stronger than a simple toe-tapping could fulfill, Aziraphale searched for a dance that would fit these desires.

He had tried the late-night tavern scene, and disliked the unplanned movements of sweaty bodies pressed up against one another. In 1459, when Crowley had already been asleep for over 50 years, Aziraphale experimented with ballet, which had just been invented.

He very much enjoyed the way the dancer’s beautiful bodies moved with the music, each step intentional and filled with emotion. In the end, after many broken toenails and a fair amount of embarrassment, he decided he much preferred to watch the dance performed on a stage than to try to force his own body through the difficult movements.

When the Waltz was invented in 1830, Aziraphale immediately found himself drawn to it. It was simple, intentioned, rhythmic, and beautiful. The only downside was that it required a partner, and Aziraphale did not have anyone to ask. If he asked an angel, he would surely be punished as he had been many times for disobeying Heaven. He’d thought about asking Crowley, but quickly shut down the idea. He certainly wasn’t going to risk the demon thinking their relationship was anything more than  _ business.  _ Especially not with the tense atmosphere that had surrounded the demon recently. It wasn’t until 1862 that Aziraphale discovered that this tenseness was due to the demon’s plan to request holy water from the angel.

It was unfortunate that it had taken such an unpalatable request to lead the angel to realize that what he had with Crowley  _ wasn’t  _ just business. Aziraphale cared for Crowley. More importantly, he was mortified at the idea of losing him. The angel was not willing to risk the loss of something so precious to him, and he hated that it meant he had lost contact with his friend. 

Though he loathed to admit it, his time without the demon had been terribly lonely. Still, it was far better to have lost contact with his friend than to risk his destruction, and so Aziraphale stood firmly by his decision.

It was a relief when, some twenty years later, Aziraphale discovered the Gavotte. He spent two years perfecting the wonderful dance, synchronizing his movements with the other gentlemen, allowing the flow of the music to carry his body in perfect harmony. It was nice, for once, to feel as free as he did when he performed this dance.

Aziraphale rarely experienced the touch of another body against his. The angels in Heaven had never been particularly affectionate with him, and he had been on Earth far too long to get close enough with an angel who might change that. He certainly appreciated the occasional kind touch from passing humans, the firm handshake when meeting someone new, even the feeling of his barbers hands in his hair was a comfort. If he was ever asked, he would have denied it tooth and nail, but Aziraphale always longed for Crowley’s touch. It was very far and few between, but every time their skin brushed, Aziraphale felt  _ sparks _ .

Not that it mattered back then. Crowley wasn’t speaking with Aziraphale, much less drunkenly wrapping an arm around him as they stumbled, laughing across the bookshop to get more wine. What Aziraphale had now was the lovely arms of many well-dressed gentlemen who were more than happy to dance side-by-side with him for the first time in his existence.

Aziraphale was heartbroken when, some thirty years later, the Gavotte went out of style for good. It wasn’t unlike him to simply perform a lovely miracle to keep things that he enjoyed from going out of style, especially when he knew that it would bring joy to others as well; but he also knew that it was unwise to perform such a frivolous miracle on a dance that he wasn’t even supposed to be encouraging, much less partaking in.

It was with great sadness that Aziraphale hung up his dancing shoes for good, and he spent many years after the loss of the Gavotte mourning the wonderful dance and the joy it had brought him. He thought about exploring another style of dance, but by the time he was finally ready to move on and explore again, England was deep in the midst of a world-changing war, and Aziraphale knew he had a duty to perform.

Instead of dancing, Aziraphale spent the first half of the twentieth century wading his way through trenches, healing as many broken bodies and minds as he could. He poured himself into the troops on the field, caring very little for which side he supported, as long as he could relieve the world of  _ some  _ of the anguish that was being thrust upon it. The angel had never longed for sleep his entire existence, but during that first great war as he walked through noxious gases, taking bullets to save the poor young boys who were forced to fight, he finally understood what could drive a being to long for the blankness of sleep. 

No matter the pain, Aziraphale had a duty to protect, and so he continued to fight, healing his own corporation just so he could continue to heal others.

The first world war had been painful, and his loneliness was visceral.

When the second world war began, Aziraphale was angry, tired, and afraid. That was why he was so relieved when a British agent named Rose approached him, offering him a way to help the humans without pouring out endless energy on the battlefield.

He should have seen that it was a setup, but in his desperation to escape the war, he had willed himself ignorant. Just as he had willed himself ignorant to the swelling love he’d felt for Crowley since – well, he wasn’t entirely sure when. Since Hamlet? Since the Ark? Maybe even since the Garden?

Regardless of how long it had been, the realization washed over Aziraphale the moment Crowley’s hand brushed his, books secured safely in a case amongst a sea of rubble. Crowley had saved Aziraphale from certain discorporation, that much was enough to make the angel’s heart swell with love; but to also save his precious books from certain destruction? Waves of love crashed over him in a way he hadn’t known they could, and Aziraphale’s heart  _ ached  _ to get back the many years they had spent apart.

He had hoped that his timely rescue might mean a reconciliation of their friendship, but it soon became clear that their temporary reconnection was not intended for that purpose.

Aziraphale certainly wasn’t going to push it, not with Heaven and Hell still breathing down their necks. 

Still, when he caught word of a slick, red-headed criminal setting up a robbery in a church, he couldn’t help but intervene.

He wasn’t going to allow some ignorant  _ human _ to get their hands on that holy water only to slip up and end his demon’s existence forever. The thought was unbearable. More unbearable than the thought of never dancing again, more unbearable than a hundred years spent apart, even more unbearable than the thought of Heaven finding out.

And so, he did the unthinkable. Aziraphale poured water into a thermos, careful to wipe his hands and all around the container before securing the lid tightly on top and placing a blessing on its contents. He then waited in the quiet Soho night for the slick, red-headed criminal to emerge from his meeting and slip into his car. Aziraphale appeared in the passenger seat of that car moments later and offered up his heart to a demon in the form of a tartan thermos.

The terror of would happen should that thermos be emptied, leaving his heart to be nothing more than a puddle of demonic goo on the floor, was what led Aziraphale to put the breaks on anything more. The urge to go faster with Crowley was as strong as the urge to tap his toes to a lovely tune; but this time it wasn’t a simple scolding that he risked for indulging in something Heaven viewed unfavourably. By giving in to his desire to be taken  _ anywhere he’d wanted to go,  _ Aziraphale would have risked his entire heart.

The next few decades were spent, mostly, fretting over this very idea. It became indescribably more difficult for the angel to resist spending time with his demon. He told himself it was just social, he told himself it was a steady,  _ safe  _ pace. Every moment was spent resisting the urge to pull Crowley closer, to hold him, to beg for them never to part. Dancing was, unfortunately, the last thing on his mind.

It was pushed impossibly further from his thoughts the moment that Gabriel so rudely interrupted him in the middle of his meal to tell him of the impending apocalypse.

Eleven danceless years were spent caring for a child, attempting to bring him into the light so that he and Crowley would have more time to move at any pace that they desired. There would be no use in moving fast or slow if the world was to end in fire and flames, tearing Crowley away from him yet again.

His years of work as Brother Francis came crashing down the day of Warlock’s eleventh birthday party. Usually, Aziraphale would have been grateful to know that a child’s birthday party ended without the presence of a hellhound, but in this particular instance it was far more terrifying to know that a hellhound was elsewhere in the world meeting an eleven year old boy who had  _ not  _ had an angelic godfather by his side. Then again, he hadn’t had a demonic godfather for a nanny either. Not that Crowley had ever been a particularly frightening demonic influence.

The following days went by in a blur of fear and disbelief. Aziraphale had spent his entire existence defending Heaven, only to have it thrown back at him in a whirlwind of self-righteous attempts to justify the end of the world. In his own desperate attempts to maintain his faith, Aziraphale had spoken in such regretful ways to the demon who had stood by him through everything when Heaven itself had abandoned him.

Despite every moment of fear and disbelief, and against all odds, Armageddon was stopped. 

Aziraphale liked to believe that the prophecy that would save his and Crowley’s lives following Armedgeddon was a sign from the Almighty; something to say sorry for the way they’d been treated, perhaps even a blessing for him to finally move forward with his feelings for Crowley.

No matter how much he  _ liked  _ to believe that this was the case, the crippling fear of what Heaven or Hell might do to Crowley if he proceeded was enough to stop him from grabbing the demon and kissing him the moment they got back from their failed executions.

Terrifying images flashed through Aziraphale’s mind on a daily basis following their respective trials; images of Michael with that jug of holy water, of demonic faces pressed against a glass window cheering for Crowley’s demise, of a bathtub filled with a liquid that would indefinitely kill the one creature who had made him feel deserving of love and freedom.

Aziraphale was, once again, afraid. Afraid that Heaven or Hell would discover their ruse, afraid that they would whisk Crowley away from him and dunk him in holy water, or torture him for eternity for disobeying. Aziraphale was terrified that if he let his guard down for only a moment, if he let himself get too lost in a book, or turn the music up too loudly as he danced alone in his shop, or if he let Crowley out of his sight for more than a moment, that everything would fall apart.

Aziraphale spent the first few months after the not-so-Armageddon practically glued to Crowley’s side. He forced himself to keep a respectful distance. He hoped that this would stop the demon from growing suspicious, he hoped that it would keep Heaven from accusing Crowley of corrupting him or some other nonsense.

It was difficult to avoid suspicion for long, though. While Aziraphale certainly never tired of Crowley’s presence, he had always been somewhat of an introvert. He’d never had any issue before the apocalypse asking Crowley to head home so he could read a book in solitude. He had certainly never reacted so strongly to Crowley suggesting he go home alone for the night to care for his plants.

He hadn’t  _ intended  _ to react so strongly to the request, but when Crowley suggested they part ways something primal and afraid snapped in the angel.

“No, you mustn’t!” the panicked sound left his lips before he had the foresight to stop it. He didn’t even realize he had reached out and grabbed Crowley’s wrist until the demon’s hand was atop his. Confused, possibly even concerned yellow eyes squinted down at him from behind darkened sunglasses.

“Everything alright, angel?” The demon’s voice was impossibly soft for someone who refused to be referred to as a certain four-letter-word, and what was left of Aziraphale’s resolve crumbled under Crowley’s touch. His cheeks burned as he met Crowley’s gaze, and his legs felt weak as he fought against the mist that formed in his blue eyes. The demon’s dark eyebrows knit together in concern when all Aziraphale could manage was a panicked hum in response.

“Angel?”

It was inches beneath Crowley’s gaze that the feeling hit Aziraphale like a ton of bricks: love. A rather overwhelming amount of it was pouring from the demon’s gaze, so much that Aziraphale wondered how he had never noticed it before.

When words failed him, Aziraphale decided instead to lean forward on nervous, unsteady legs to press his lips to the demon’s. His heart pounded incredibly fast for something that he technically didn’t even need as he reached his left hand to gently cup Crowley’s cheek. The hand that had desperately grasped Crowley’s wrist before slid down to lace his fingers with the demon’s.

It wasn’t until a few moments after their lips had met, Aziraphale pouring every ounce of love he’d hidden away for millennia into a single kiss, that the angel realized Crowley hadn’t moved. He was as still as a statue save for a slight tremble in the hand that Aziraphale held, serpentine eyes blown wide.

Aziraphale pulled away quickly, dropping the demon’s hand like it was red hot and stumbling away from him. His cheeks burned red as his eyes found the floor.

Had he been wrong about the love he’d felt from Crowley? Had he just ruined 6000 years of wonderful friendship?

“Oh goodness. I’m so sorry. I thought- well, I sensed – I mean – oh, forgive me, will you? It’ll never happen again. In fact, forget it even happened once and we can just-“

Aziraphale’s stuttered rambling was cut off by a sudden pain as Crowley’s nose bounced awkwardly against his own, and it took Aziraphale a moment to realize that the previously frozen demon had tried to kiss him back.

“Ngk. Sorry. Meant to-“

He leaned in again, a little slower this time. Cool, slender fingers cupped the angel’s warm cheeks. Aziraphale immediately moved to tangle a hand in the demon’s red hair, his other reaching to intertwine their fingers together once more.

They stayed like that for quite some time. Tangled together, they did a sort of dance of their own. When their lips were parted, they found other ways to lace their bodies together, Crowley’s long arms wrapping around the angel’s torso, a gentle hand running through the demon’s hair.

They eventually found their way to the couch in the backroom, bodies pressed lovingly against one another. They wanted nothing more that night than to hold each other, drinking in the other’s scent, tasting the other’s lips with tender love. It was not a sexual sort of embrace that held the two together that night, but something incredibly more gentle and ineffably more intimate.

Soft admissions of love were shared that night, along with tears that neither would ever admit to shedding.

Aziraphale felt at peace. More at peace than he had in the Garden, more at peace than he had when listening to Crowley’s beautiful song on the Ark, even more than he had when he danced the Gavotte.

After that night, Aziraphale and Crowley were practically glued at the hip. They rarely left the other’s side, and could most often be found wrapped around each other in one way or another.

Aziraphale still frequently looked over his shoulder, fearful that someone would come for them and tear them apart. He was happier than he had ever been, and was sure that  _ something  _ would try to take that happiness away.

Days passed in blissful peace, then months, then a year.

Not a soul disturbed them as they spilled forth all the love they’d hidden and protected from one another. After a month Crowley began to move his possessions into the flat above the bookshop, where Aziraphale miracled a comfortable bed with tartan silk sheets that the two shared. Aziraphale didn’t sleep, but he contentedly watched the demon as he did, a loving arm wrapped around his shoulder.

After six months Aziraphale and Crowley attended the wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Pulsifer. Hand in hand, the two openly shared their love with the world. Crowley watched as Aziraphale ate. Aziraphale had taken to watching while Crowley drank, too fearful of what might happen should he be caught unaware in a drunken state. That night, hand in hand with his demon at the wedding reception, Aziraphale finally allowed himself to relax into Crowley’s comforting touch and graciously accept an offer of wine.

After a year Aziraphale was reading in silence, Crowley by his side, when the demon offered to run to the shop and grab them a bite to eat. Aziraphale, who had been insistent on accompanying Crowley anywhere he went due to the fear of what might happen should they part, surprised even himself when he said:

“Well, I’m at quite a good part of the story, so I think I’ll stay here. Do pick up another bottle of chardonnay while you’re out, won’t you, love?”

After two years Aziraphale and Crowley had settled into what could only be referred to as domestic bliss. They never tired of the other’s presence or touch, but finally felt safe and content to be apart from one another for given periods of time.

After three years together, Aziraphale decided he wanted to dance again.

He had always wanted to learn to waltz, and was no longer held back by a fear of what Heaven would do if they caught him tapping his toes. He no longer felt a crippling anxiety about would happen if he reached out and asked someone to accompany him.

Aziraphale went alone at first to scope out the classes. He wanted to be sure he was purchasing the best of the best. He danced with a human, and quite enjoyed the flow of the music, the rhythmic steps of the waltz. What Aziraphale didn’t particularly enjoy was the cold embrace of the stranger he danced with. They were a perfectly lovely human, but truthfully there was only ever one body he longed to be pressed against as he swayed in rhythm with the music.

Crowley refused to join him at first. He was rather rude about it, in fact. This left a very gloomy Aziraphale to sulk around the bookshop with an incurable pout on his lips for the next few days.

He wasn’t surprised when, after two days of this sulking, Crowley gave in to the angel’s pouting and agreed to accompany him to a dance class.

“I’m only doing this because you’ve been insufferable the last few days, angel.”

“And I appreciate it, dear boy.” Aziraphale was beaming now.

“And I’m not promising to commit to six weeks of classes or anything. Just one. And if I hate it – which I will – then you have to promise never to make me come again.”

“Of course, my dear heart.”

“And I’m also not promising that I’ll be any good at this.”

“I understand, my love.”

Crowley was, most certainly,  _ not  _ very good at it. Awkward, lanky legs stumbled over the steps of the dance, and his black shoes stood accidentally on Aziraphale’s toes more than once.

Aziraphale could not have cared less.

Aziraphale had thought that Heaven was a cold, white, pristine office building filled with distant approval at its best and vengeful anger at its worst.

He was wrong.

Heaven was here, in a demon’s arms. Heaven was standing chest-to-chest with a lanky, stumbling serpant whose cheeks were flushed red, swaying awkwardly and out-of-rhythm with the music.

“Ngh. Sorry, angel. Told you I wouldn’t be any good-“

“You’re doing wonderfully, my love.”

“Don’t patronize me, angel.”

“I wouldn’t dream of patronizing you, my dear.”

“I really think you’d have more fun if you just partnered with one of the humans-“

Aziraphale stopped swaying and stepped away from Crowley so their gazes met. A stubborn frown was on the angel’s lips, and Crowley tried to look away from the angel.

“What I love about this is being here with  _ you,  _ my love. I wouldn’t dream of doing this any other way.”

Crowley looked down at him.

“M’not very good at this kind of thing. I’m a demon. Not supposed to be any good at dancing.”

Aziraphale’s features softened as he reached a hand to cup the serpent’s cheek.

“I’m an angel, I’m  _ technically  _ not supposed to dance at all. Do you know what changed that, dear boy?”

Crowley pressed his lips together in confusion.

“Gavotte, wasn’t it? In the 1880’s?” he paused, gaze finding the floor. “When we weren’t speaking.”

Aziraphale shook his head softly.

“It was 1601. A terribly lonely and fearful angel had just returned from Edinburgh and seen the Globe Theatre filled to the brim with a miraculously excited audience when he happened upon the home of a wonderfully handsome and wily old serpent.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with-“

“Hush, I’m not finished.”

Blushing, Crowley hushed.

“Inside this home, the serpent played a beautiful tune on the lute. It was a joyful song, so different from the calm but heartbreaking tune he had played for the children on Noah’s Ark. The angel remembered that song on the Ark, the song that lifted the angel’s fear that earthly music was something evil. After all, how could something evil be so calming and beautiful?

Much like the lyre had lifted the angel’s fear of music, the lute lifted the fear of dancing that had been ingrained in the angel since he’d been scolded for tapping his toes in Heaven right at the Beginning. For the first time, an angel tapped his toes without fear.

Centuries later, that angel was too afraid to learn the waltz because he was stubborn and too afraid to ask the serpent to join him. Years later he learned the Gavotte because he was terribly lonely without his serpent by his side.”

“You never told me any of that.” tears had formed in Crowley’s eyes, and Aziraphale wiped them away gently as they fell.

“I am an angel who dances because you allowed me to let go of my fear and feel free. I’m here, holding you, because you were far more patient with me than I ever deserved. You moved more slowly than a snail with me because I was afraid. But if you hadn’t been there to help me along, I would have never moved at all. I would have been trapped in that fear forever. You set me free, my love.”

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a tender kiss on his fingers.

“My love, you moved impossibly slowly for me for 6000 years, and I am so incredibly grateful. I am finally ready to move faster. I am ready, my heart, to dance with you. But, what kind of a lover would I be if I pushed the one I love to move at a pace he isn’t ready for?”

“Ngk. S’fine, angel. I said I’d come.” 

“Oh, Crowley, I could wait forever to dance with you. Simply having you is enough.”

Crowley leaned into Aziraphale’s touch, pressing their chests together. He reached for Aziraphale’s hand, lacing their fingers together before beginning to step as best he could in time with the music.

“You don’t have to wait, angel. I  _ want  _ to dance with you. I’m ready to move forward with you.”

Aziraphale beamed as he, too, began to step in time with the music. Awkward feet still stumbled as he stepped, but with newfound determination on his features, the wily old serpent began to learn to dance.

It was in each other’s loving embrace that, for the first time in history, an angel and a demon learned to waltz. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on
> 
> [Tumblr](http://aziraiphale.tumblr.com)
> 
> Feel free to leave a kudos or a comment!


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